


Not Yours (Envy)

by Amymel86



Series: Seven Deadly Sins - Jonsa [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Explicit Language, F/M, Fingering, Jon was raised as the royal bastard prince, Lyanna still dies in childbirth, Rheagar Wins AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Sansa gripped his hand tight as he pulled her along. It felt small and delicate in his own. He enjoyed the feeling of her soft skin against his and wondered if the rest of her felt so smooth to the touch.Not yours to find out.******************************************A one-shot in where Sansa Stark is betrothed to Jon's half brother, Prince Aegon Targaryen.





	Not Yours (Envy)

**Author's Note:**

> I warn you - this one is dialogue heavy and has been the bane of my existence for the past few weeks! I hope it reads ok!!
> 
> Thank you Myrish_lace and Vivilove for buying me more time to work on this monstrosity!!  
> *hides behind hands*

 

It tastes bitter. Not like the sharp of a lemon, but more like the putrid tang of something left out in the sun when it ought not to be. It riles the stomach and sweats the skin. Jon has felt it - that jealousy - ever since he can remember. Most attendants at his father's court assume that he has made peace with his lot, that Jon can easily swallow and accept his place. They would come to realise their oversight, should they care enough to take a closer look.

The silver moon is high in the inky sky as Jon looks out over the gardens on his sister's balcony. The air is muggy but there's a pleasant breeze that carries the salt from the soft sea waves and the scent from the sweet honeysuckle below.

"And where have you been hiding?" Rhaenys asked as she sashayed from her room out into the night air with her bastard half-brother, a finely decorated goblet of rich blood red wine sloshing gently in her hand.

"Nowhere."

"Hmmm" she rolled her eyes in response, taking a sip of the heady liquid. "Your new bought of sulking hasn't anything to do with our brother's shiny new betrothal now has it?" Jon only grunted in response. "Oh come now Jon! You, of all people should be happy about this union." 

He turned his head away from her, pretending to be highly interested in the couples taking late night strolls among the roses and under the walkways covered by climbing vines. He could feel the irritation undulating off of her as she stood next to him, waiting for a return of his attention. Jon conceded and gave it to her, trying to convey, without any words, that no - he,  _'of all people'_  was not happy that his brother would be marrying into his mother's side of his family. A side of the family that he had yet to meet, save for his uncle and eldest cousin Robb once when he were a much younger lad.

"Egg will mend the rift that father made" she sniffed, turning up her nose with an air of finality.

He narrowed his eyes at her profile. It's of no use to argue with her of course, although he felt the bubble and slosh of anger in his gut at the connotations that he himself was that very 'rift'. He closed his eyes and took in a breath that hopefully would bring some calm to his nerves, but before he could respond a couple of high girlish giggles pierced the warm night air from directly below.

"My Prince! You are a naughty one!"

"You have no idea...now be a good girl and kiss her." 

Rhaenys chuckled and took another sip of wine. "Egg" she supplies, shaking her head in amusement "he always finds ways to entertain himself."

Jon blinks at her incredulously. "He's betrothed.....he's betrothed to my cousin now...surely he should be-"

"Should be what, Jon? Living as celibate as a Stark at the wall?" His sister teases with a wry grin and a wave of the goblet she cradles in an upturned palm. "Egg is just having some fun."

"That's it, now suckle on her teats" came the voice of his treuborn half brother from below. Both Jon and Rhaenys lean over her balcony, but wherever the noises of Aegon's intimate dealings were coming from, it was obviously well hidden in shadow and shrubbery. Two distinctly different notes of female tittering drifted up to their waiting ears.

"Lots of fun, apparently" Rhaenys smirked.

"This.....this is.....he's doing it out in the open! Anyone could walk by and see him - see them - make a fool of my cousin!" Jon implored, gesturing with a flat open palm to the sounds of groaning and rustling leaves below.

Rhaenys' eyes flit back and forth across Jon's expression, scrutinising it for any concealed jape. "You do expect him to be chaste, don't you?" she concludes with an amused twinkle in her eye.

"No" he huffs. And that was the truth - there can only be a mere handful of ladies or maidservants alike here at the Red Keep that his brother had not explored one way or another. But this? Now? Now that Aegon had been handed over a good - and by all accounts - pleasing in both manner and appearance lady wife? To be beside him in life, in his bed, and - when the time comes - on the throne. To laugh at his jests and to birth his babes. To allow his kisses and to-

"On your knees for your Prince...both of you."

"I don't think you want to hear the rest" Rhaenys comments with one raised brow as she saunters past the gauzy curtains of flowing red fabric and back into her room. "And I'm rather tired, so if you wouldn't mind?" she calls over her shoulder at him.

Jon pushes back from the edge of the balcony with a grunt just as he starts to hear his brother's moaned praises from below. "I was leaving anyway" he grumbled, walking briskly past his half sister, not bothering to look back and offer any utterance of parting for the night.

* * *

"Come now, Bessie? You must have had Bessie? Pretty dark haired thing, always smiling, big tits with lovely brown teats?"

"No, Egg....I don't know who you mean." Jon lied with a huff. They were on horseback, along with their royal entourage, travelling to The Reachfor a tourney arranged in the name Margaery Tyrell **.** Word has it the Tyrell's are looking for a suitable match for their rose.Once it had been known that some of the members of House Stark, including Lady Sansa, would be making the rare tour below The Neck, it had been thought a good and happy occasion for the two newly betrotheds to meet for the first time. And so the Targaryen Princes - trueborn and Bastard - were making their way to The Reach.

The journey so far on the Roseroad had been arduous for Jon - not due to rough travel, inclement weather, or lack of pleasant scenery, but rather because of the company. Aegon had taken it upon himself to lead his favourite past-time in taunting his brother about his bastard status or his lack of carnal experience. The lack of which, is not born out of an absence of lust, but rather a fear of it.

Their father gave in to his lust, and it tore the kingdoms apart. Thousands died and Jon was born, all because his father could not control his base wants. The royal bastard has long been seen as the result of a man who could not temper his urges, a living shrine of the King's infidelity, a walking, talking reminder of how the Queen had been dishonoured. No, Jon would not indulge those maids who would linger too long in preparing his hearth, bend _'just so'_  so that he is afforded more than a glimpse down their corsets before giggling and asking if he is in need of a bedwarmer that night. The thrill of bedding the Targaryen bastard is what fuels them he supposes - their actions are born out of some kind of sport, not actual want of him. Then there are those courtiers who have tried to push their daughters his way - once they've tried for Aegon's attention first of course.

He very nearly fell trap to it once, caught up in the odd easy flattering and flirty nature of one Vale lord's second daughter - that is, until, between hurried kisses behind the heavy red velvet drapes, Jon's hand kneading her breast, his tongue making a map of the tendons in her neck, the young Lady began asking questions of potential holdfasts and what kind of position had been promised to him. It was then, as she babbled about her dream of a royal wedding, that Jon realised her breathing was steady, her skin not at all flushed - she was not affected one bit by his attentions. She was not affected by Jon - just what a marriage with him could bring her.

So no, Jon had not known a woman how his carnal thoughts tell him he would like to. He shall not prove right the tales of bastardy, he shall not be a means to get closer to his father's crown, and he will not father any bastards of his own.

Jon scowls at Aegon, who has been riding beside him for the past three days. His brother has none of these worries - in fact, it is uttered in the shadows of the Keep that Egg has fathered half a dozen bastards already.

"You're far too serious....as serious as a Stark" his brother comments as he enjoys their easy pace, his hips moving lazily with the gait of his horse.

"And you're not nearly serious enough."

Aegon only laughs, and in turn, so do his personal guard who amble along behind him, the creak of their leather saddles and metallic scrape of their armour seem to mimic their cries of laughter. "Do you even have a cock, bastard-brother of mine? Is that why you turned down lovely Trudy a moons turn ago? Poor thing was quite put out when I came upon her.... don't worry though-" he turned and threw a salacious grin at the guardsmen behind them "I comforted her well enough." Jon tried to ignore the answering hooting and hollering that occurred far too often for his liking.

"If you're quite done?" Jon says between gritted teeth as he urges his steed into a trot, pulling away from Aegon and his group of snickering companions.

"Oh come on bastard-brother!" Egg calls after him "can't we have a little fun on this dull trip? I believe Trudy is travelling along with us somewhere in the back" he waves his hand at the convoy behind them "I'm sure she'll happily entertain you...she's a real screamer, I find!"

* * *

 

Jon endures three more days travel full of Aegon's taunts and that from the King's Guard alike. But then he sees it, the camp-grounds for the tourney, his eyes instantly finding one section of the myriad of tents and proud sigil flags flying high in the summer breeze. Grey - grey is what he sees, with a snarling direwolf, striking in its fierce declaration to the house it belongs to. He feels called to it like sailors to a siren's song. Without realising he's urging his horse forward and away from the rest of the royal party, eager to meet more of his mother's family. His family.

His horse meanders through rows of tents, past traders, knights and spectators alike. There's an air of excitement in this gathering - a member of the royal family has not attended a tourney since...well, since  _that_  tourney at Harrenhal. Jon's not so sure that the joyous taste on the breeze is warranted - he thinks perhaps the attendees should temper themselves with wariness instead. Never-the-less, his heart is light with a patter that's calling him to one particular corner of the grounds, his breath coming in slightly faster as he nears the waving wolves high above in the winds.

Jon dismounts, and whilst still facing the saddle, takes the time to dust off his doublet and run a useless hand through his un-tamable hair. With his eyes closed, he takes a breath, hoping that it could have some calming effect upon him. He's only vaguely aware of some more of the royal guard just now catching up - they will not temper this thrill of his though, they will not mar this meeting of his family members. He turns - and he stills.

There, in the entrance to the Stark pavilion tent is quite possibly the fairest creature imaginable. Tall and slender but with the hint of womanly curves, blemish-less ivory skin disappearing into a Stark-grey dress and crowned by tumbling auburn hair. Jon's heart is pounding in his ears and his mouth is somehow dry and yet watering all at once.

This must be his cousin, Sansa. He'd heard tell of her Tully colouring and her unmatched beauty - who else could they possibly be speaking of if not her?

Summer blue eyes scan the royal entourage as her hands twist nervously in front of her. When her gaze lands upon him, a small smile ghosts her lips. She ducks her head and tucks a section of copper hair behind her ear, reclaiming it back from the winds that seemed to want to make a dancing partner out of it. Looking back at Jon, up through her lashes, he feels encouraged to move closer and make her acquaintance.

Just as his brain tells his legs to shift his feet, a firm hand stops him as it rests on his shoulder, barring his way forward with an arm laden in highly polished Targeryen armour.

"Pretty, dear thing isn't she?" Aegon teases "how much do you want to wager that I'll be making that little wolf howl before she takes a trip up the aisle?"

"Aegon" Jon warns in a low menacing hiss, causing his brother to release his shoulder and raise his hands in mock-surrender.

"I'm only joking! Seven hells Jon!" Aegon shakes his head and lowers his hands "you, dear bastard-brother, are in need of a wench or two to replace that glum Stark expression with an actual fucking smile!"

Jon regards his trueborn brother for a good long moment, his attention then returns to the redhead standing in the tent's entrance, staring intently at the two Princes. "Don't jest about that...don't jest about  _her_."

"Oh, come on! I was-"

"She is my family!" he jabs Aegon in the chest with an angry finger "And she is to be your wife!" he finishes, the words coming out in a spit. She is though. She is to be _his_  and of all the things that have been handed to his brother on life's silver platter, it's  _her_  that boils his blood more than anything. Aegon rolls his eyes.

_And you are not worthy of her. I know it in my bones._

"Yes, yes" his brother says, dismissively waving a hand. "Better actually meet the girl then....and Jon?.....Don't ever jab your bastard finger at me again, understand?"

Jon grits his teeth and gives the minutest of nods before watching Aegon stride confidently over to the now blushing Stark daughter, he distantly notices how hard he is clenching his jaw. It aches but he feels like the pain is needed when he sees the way his cousin dips into a low curtsy and fusses with her hair as she sways her hips and desperately tries to keep her smile demure for his brother.

"She's been insufferable for the whole sodding journey down here" comes a voice beside him.

Blinking out of his angered trance, Jon sought out the owner of the voice. A petite girl with brunette messy braids and a smear of dirt across her nose starts stroking Jon's horse. She's wearing a heavy wool dress but strangely looks at odds with the garment. Glancing back at Jon with a grin, the girl's nimble hands do not leave the horses neck.

"You're Jon aren't you? I can tell, you look like father."

"Father?....Lord Stark?...so you're-"

"Arya" the slight girl supplies, her concentration still on the horse's mane. "She's been harping on and on about her maids packing the wrong dresses...apparently her wool ones aren't _'southern_ ' enough for you Princes."

Jon wants to snort at that comment. He wants to dismiss it and reply that he's sure that no one could find fault in his cousin's attire. But he can't.

"Don't talk much do you?" Arya says, squinting up at Jon as she shields the sun from her eyes. Her nose scrunches as she's awaiting Jon to form some pattern of words that might actually make it out of his mouth.

"Sorry" he mumbles "I....uh..."

"That's alright" she shrugs. "Talking is overrated anyway. That's all Sansa bloody does these days-". Jon cut off her complaining with a raised eyebrow and a smirk at her use of language. It did not stop Arya for long as she launches into a haughty mimicry of her sister, complete with flipping her hair and an exaggeratedly high pitched voice. " _Oh do you think the Prince will like my hair like this? Oh! I must wear lavender! It brings out my colouring! I heard Prince Aegon likes the smell of roses - I simply must have some rose oil for my neck!"_

Jon laughed at his cousin's caricature before glancing back up at the source material. Aegon had just offered Sansa his arm, presumably to accompany her somewhere. She took it with a bright beaming smile that nibbled at Jon's gut.

"Are you coming to the feast tonight?" Arya asked.

"Yes... I suppose I will be" he responds, his voice a faint wisp on the wind as he watches the retreating forms of Aegon and his flame-haired cousin.

 

* * *

 

 

The large marquee that was used as the venue for the welcome feast was sumptuously decorated. There were golden roses hung and wound around every possible surface The happy attendee's faces were bathed in the glow and flicker of candlelight.  

Everyone was there it seemed, families from all over the Seven Kingdoms. The room, although large and opulent, felt stuffy and oppressing to Jon. He had wanted to leave as soon as he had entered.

_If it weren't for the chance to meet more of my family, I dare say I would._

He saw her first. Sansa's bright copper hair shining amongst the throng of people taking their seats. 

As royal guests, both Aegon and Jon had been reserved spaces to sit up at the head table along with the hosting family. Jon looked between the ostentatious table where the Tyrell's were swamped with decorative foliage and blooms, and the bench table in which sat his Uncle Ned, Arya (waving frantically at him), a small boy who he assumed to be his cousin Brandon....and Sansa Stark. He knew where he would be sitting throughout this feast.

"You've grown lad" his uncle exclaimed with a wide smile as he approached the table.

"Prince Jon" Sansa stood and curtsied before him. Jon only just managed to ignore the roar of blood rushing past his ears long enough to assure her that she need not act on such formalities around him. Sansa gave him a bright beaming smile that made his heart stutter as he seated himself next to her.

Jon enquired about Winterfell, the North and also learned that his cousin Robb had stayed behind with Lady Catelyn and baby Rickon to put his lordly teachings to good use. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell" his uncle had declared. Jon nodded in agreement, even though he was sad not to have seen his cousin once more.

All while Jon was enjoying the conversation with the Starks, he was drawn to one of them in particular - but her concentration was held elsewhere. He followed her line of vision. It lead to the high table where his brother was sat close to Margaery Tyrell, whispering in her ear and playfully tugging a strand of her hair. The Rose of Highgarden's demure giggle rang out above the hubbub of the feast.

"How are you finding The Reach my Lady?" Jon leant over and murmured to Sansa suddenly, making her jump a little in her seat and her attention snap back to Jon.

"Oh....it's very... _green_ , my Prince."

"It is....far too green for my liking" he smiled, pleased that she returned it "and please, just call me Jon."

"As you wish....Jon" Sansa beamed.

They fell into idle chatter between filling their bellies with food and wine and Jon found his annoyance at his brother reaching new levels. His sweet cousin would continuously glance at her betrothed and every time she did so, he was seemingly salivating all over Lady Margaery. He briefly considered taking Aegon aside to make it clear what an ass he was being, but he was loathe to relinquish his place beside Sansa at this point in time.

_She is to be his and he cannot even spare her a glance. If she were mine I would do nothing but drown in her._

"I'm sure he's just into his cups my Lady" Jon assured her after he could take no more of her longing looks being thrown at their undeserved recipient. Sansa blinked at him and gave a small, sad smile.

 _I should talk to Egg_. 

Jon rose from his seat when he had seen his brother exit the feast with some of his royal guards. Sansa grabbed his arm before releasing it just as quickly with an apologetic look upon her face. 

"Will you....there's....the dancing will start soon."

"I will return shortly....save me a dance?" her answering smile was bright enough to shame the sun and left Jon a little light-headed as he followed Aegon out into the night air.

 _She's his_ , he had to remind himself, taking one glance back at her watching him leave.

"Egg!" he shouted, sprinting after his brother and companions. "Where are you going? You've not spoken one word to Sansa all evening."

Aegon turned to see Jon coming to a stop in front of him. "Yes, well the pretty little thing only wants to talk of songs and the North. She may be fine to look at but she's terribly dull." Jon gaped back at him. 

_She is nothing of the sort!_

"You've decided that in half a day?!"

Egg waved a hand dismissively. "I've got a whole bloody lifetime to learn more about Lady Stark when I make her a Targaryen. Now if you'll excuse us, there's a couple of whore's tents over to the west of the camp."

"You fucking half-wit!" Jon exclaimed, the words hanging between them in the night air. 

His brother looked shocked at first, before he schooled his features and slowly began to walk to Jon. He placed both hands heavily upon his brother's shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"Bastard brother. I'll assume you are too into your cups this night and give you the benefit of the doubt. But you do not speak to me like that" Aegon brought one hand up to cup Jon's cheek "it will not end well for you. Do you understand?" The menacing tone to his voice rang clear between them like a song. Jon nodded begrudgingly, his eyes boring a hole into his brothers. "Besides, you seem to be distracting the little dullard well enough."

Jon's hands turned to fists at his side.

_I could hit him. His men would be on me in an instant, but by Gods I could get a few blows in first._

Aegon narrowed his eyes at his brother, turning his head to the side to regard him with suspicion. "If I didn't know any better.... I'd say you'd like to _fuck_ my little Northern girl, Bastard." Jon's spine felt like a steel rod and his jaw was as if it were made of stone. Aegon saw it. "Oh!....you do!....Hear this lads-" he calls over his shoulder at his men "the Bastard has taken a shine to my sweet little redheaded bride! Of all the cunts in the kingdoms, you want the one that will be _mine_ before the Gods?"

The men sneered and jested as Jon's trueborn brother continued to smile that sickly, knowing smile back at him. "Come Bastard brother!" he finally says "come with us - I hear there's a few redheaded whores on camp. You pick one, and pretend that you're fucking what's mine....you could even ask her to prattle on and on about Winterfell while you fill her up if you like?" Aegon finished, patting Jon on the cheek.

His brother's calls and laughter haunted him as Jon forced himself to turn around and stride away.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jon screwed his eyes shut, hoping that might help in eradicating the taunts and jibes replaying over and over in his head. He wasn't sure how long he had wandered the camp in the dark, trying to dampen down the feeling that clawed ferociously at his gut. Somehow, he's managed to find himself back at his tent. He lifted his eyelids with a growl and reached for the nearest object. The brass goblet went flying across his tent, hitting one of the posts with a satisfying clang. _It wasn't enough_. Jon felt the roar of rage inside him swelling to the point where tears were threatening to fall.  _No. Not that_. He won't get upset about this. About  _words_. He grabbed his well of ink and tossed it across his quarters, the splatters decorating the canvas wall in a black liquid arc. Not enough.  _It's not enough_. With a yell he heaved his desk onto it's side, all manner of belongings clattering to the floor. A frustrated roar left Jon as he proceeded to kick his stool over only for it to be picked up again by a leg and beat it into the earth with a grunt at each bash.

_Not worthy. Aegon is not worthy of anything he is handed. Let alone her. I want her. Gods! I want her._

Jon fell back on his arse once the stool had been rendered useless now without it's legs. His chest heaved as he panted and surveyed the chaos he had created and would need to sort out himself. It hadn't made it better, not one bit. That was when a sob came unbidden to his throat. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if that would cause the tears to return from whence they came.

 _She is to be his._   _Not mine. Never mine._

Rising to his feet and wiping his eyes, Jon manages to swallow his second sob, pushing it down, deep down and locking it away. His mind wanders to the whore's tent as he sets his jaw in determination and teeters on edge of a decision. Perhaps his brother has been right all these years? Maybe he should just give in? Maybe he should just embrace his bastardy? Perhaps he should fulfil all his lustful desires? Consequences be damned - he is man and all other men around him seem not to fret over such things.

_Maybe I should just-_

"Prince Jon? Are you alright?" came a sweet, unexpected voice from outside his tent. Before he had chance to answer, she was stepping aside from the flap entrance-way and looking at him with concern.

"Lady Sansa" he breathed, taking in how the low light from the few lit candles flickered and danced across her face, making her skin appear golden and her hair the deepest copper-red. Her cheeks were flush from drink that was catching up with her and in her hand she still held a pewter goblet.

"I...I heard crashing and...and you sounded upset."

"I'm fine" he snapped, turning his back to her.

"You promised me a dance, but you were gone" her voice sounded small and cracked.

Just then, some members of the royal guard passed by the tent, their conversation ringing clear through the canvas that was gently undulating in the breeze.

"Wouldn't even touch the redheaded whore - not even when Aegon offered to pay!" one guard snorted, Jon winced.

"I'm not surprised to be honest. Not sure the bastard even  _has_  a cock the way he carries on. You would think he'd make use of his status and tup a few maids but I never heard o' nothin' going on where that's concerned."

Jon turned to see the look of shock etched upon Sansa's face, staring at the divide of material between them and the gossiping guards. Her brows knit with their words and her eyes slowly travelled to level with his.

"Nah, if he  _does_  have a cock, he's too scared to get it wet!" both men started laughing raucously, each slapping the other on the back. Jon closed his eyes and let out a breath of resignation at his humiliation.

"Or maybe he prefers boys ay?" 

At that, Sansa huffed and purposefully strode over to Jon's cot, she sat down primly on the edge, placed her cup upon the small bedside table and began bouncing up and down, causing the wooden pallet base to creak in rhythm with her movements. Jon watched her with curiosity and confusion, Sansa kept her eyes trained on the side of the tent that the guards were behind. Once she started to make the noises, Jon realised what it was she was doing.

"Ay, someone's gettin' some in there" they heard one man say as Sansa began to moan and sigh prettily.

"Who's tent is this?"

"Oh Prince Jon!" Sansa exclaims with a giggle. Jon's eyes widen. The guards go silent. "Jon! Oh Jon!" she carries on, throwing him a cheeky drink induced grin. "Yes! Like that!"

_Gods!_

"Well I never" comes a voice from the other side of the canvas. "Seems the bastard's got it in him after all!"

"Oh yes! Yes! YES!"

"She likes it anyway" the one man snickers as the other seems to have a coughing fit. "Give 'er one from me!" he hollers.

"Oh! Oh! Ahhh!!" Sansa cries, her bouncing picking up speed. Jon stands there gaping, unable to peel his eyes away from her.

The guards combined laughter fades into the night as they make a retreat for their own beds - or that of a whore's, Jon couldn't be sure. Sansa's movements slow to a stop. She collapses back into a fit of giggles across his bed.

"You.....you didn't have to do that" he says hoarsely.

"They were being asses." Sansa said before clamping both hands across her mouth, muffling the continuation of her giggles.

"How much have you had to drink?"

Sansa sits up suddenly, her cheeks blotched and pink, making a pretty contrast against the pale cream of her skin. "Don't tell father will you Jon?"

"That you are deep into your cups or that you are a skilled actress?"

"A skilled actre-?..Oh! No!" Sansa shakes her head fiercely, the motion causing her to sway a little where she sits "No! Don't tell anyone about what I just did! Please Jon!"

He has to laugh a little at that. The thought of him recounting the tale to anyone is absurd. He'll keep her cries of passion - falsities as the were - for himself and himself alone. The sound of her calling out his name still echoed within his tent and he did not want to share _that_ with anyone.

"I won't tell."

"Not even Prince Aegon?"

"Especially not Aegon."

"Thank you" she breaths, a sleepy drunken smile curving her lips as she lay a palm flat over her heart like he's just pledged his life to her.

"Sansa?"

"Yes?"

"How.....how do you know....well....how do you know what _that_ sounds like?"

Sansa stared at him for a good long while. It was clear she had not understood the question and it seemed she was searching for clues to be found upon Jon's face. He cleared his throat.

"The noises you made....when you were pretending...how did you-?"

"Oh!" Sansa exclaims in realisation before giggling once more. "Arya and I went walking throughout the camp the other evening....we heard...well... _that"_ she finished with her brows high on her head, making Jon smile.

"I see" 

Worry clouded her face quickly and without warning "I'm still a maid!" Sansa declared, standing and wobbling slightly "I'm still a maid! I'm not wanton! Please don't tell Aegon! Please Jon!"

"I won't, I promise."

After placating her, Jon offered to walk her back to the Stark camp. Sansa leant heavily on his arm and stumbled a few times but Jon didn't mind, especially when she bent her head to rest sleepily upon his shoulder as they walked.

"Jon is a much easier name." she sighed before nearly tripping over her feet. "Jon - it's a much easier name to call out in the throws of passion." Jon slowed their walk, not sure how to respond. "I imagined crying out my betrothed's name but it just doesn't feel right." Listening to her words he felt a lightness burst from somewhere within him despite the dark that surrounded them - he dared to call it hope, but hope for _what_ , he did not know. "And I can't very well call out 'Egg' can I?" Sansa burst into another fit of giggles before Jon agreed with her as they made it to her tent.

After bidding her a good night, Jon returned to his quarters, not caring one bit for the chaos that met him there - for along with the upturn desk, array of possessions strewn across the floor and the broken stool, bounced Sansa's words. Sansa's flushed cheeks. Sansa's smile.

 

* * *

 

 

The rain had come in fast and unexpected. The day's tourney activities postponed, much to everyone's annoyance, while the field became muddied and churned by boot and hoof. Jon was laid out atop his cot, listening to the heavy patter of the rainfall upon the canvas and replaying the noises of the night in his head. The air was muggy and oppressive within his tent when the invitation to luncheon with his Stark cousins came from the mouth of a sodden messenger. Jon wasted no time at all in changing into one of his nicer doublets, smoothing his hair as best he could into a knot, held by a leather cord, and took the time to scuff a brush over his boots.

The quick bolt from his tent over to the Stark pavilion took no time at all. The air was warm and earthy as the fat raindrops fell upon the various temporary tourney structures, creating a variety of little drum beats as he sped past, muddying his boots as he went. 

The minute he saw her he was plagued with those false cries of passion.

_Jon! Oh Jon!_

He was suddenly thankful that he could mask the heat in his cheeks with the fact he had just sprinted to reach them.

"Is Prince Aegon not with you?" Sansa had asked after greeting him with a bashful smile.

_Of course she would ask after HIM._

Jon shook his head while he caught his breath. Sansa's eyes wandered downwards towards the muck that Jon had traipsed in with him. He mumbled a shy apology as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

_Some refined prince you are._

"No matter" she said brightly with a warm smile before Arya and Bran came bounding up behind her to greet Jon in turn.

Ned Stark had been called on to pay the tourney hosts a private visit and Prince Aegon had still neglected to make an appearance, so the lunch attendees consisted of only Jon, Arya, Sansa and Bran. After the food had been devoured and the younger Stark sister had been reminded repeatedly by the elder one that descriptions of jousting injuries were not suitable for the dinner table, there became a comfortable lull in any and all conversation. 

"Urgh! this is so boring!" Arya eventually whined, throwing a bare chicken bone down onto her pewter plate with a clang.

"Arya!"

"Come on" the little brunette said, turning to her brother and completely ignoring Sansa's warning "let's do something stupid!"

"Like what?" Bran mumbled happily around a mouthful of bread.

"Like....there's a stream in the woods to the east of the fields...it's where they take the horses to drink.....we could go and build a dam and swim in the rain!"

"Don't be ridiculous! You'll both catch your deaths!" Sansa said, her words falling on deaf ears as an excited Arya and Bran were already making their way to the tent entrance.

"Come on Jon!" Arya called over her shoulder before darting out into the rain, laughing as she went. "Don't stay in there with 'Sour Sansa'"

 Jon didn't move. His gaze drifted back to Sansa, her eyes downcast to her near empty plate.

"You don't really want to stay in here do you?" Jon asked with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

"No, but-"

Jon watched as she twiddled her fingers into the fabric of her skirts at her lap and bit her bottom lip in contemplation, releasing it slowly from her teeth and leaving it a little pinker and more swollen than usual. He wet his own lips in response.

"My dress. I'd muddy my dress and.....Prince Aegon - he may still make an appearance. I can't be soiled in front of my betrothed."

A fierce want gripped Jon by the belly and core of him. He _wanted_ to muddy her. He wanted to _soil_ her. Aegon did not deserve her even if she wore every speck of dirt from here to The Wall.

_All the ways I would soil you, sweet Sansa._

_Not yours to soil._

"If I know Egg, he's probably still sleeping off that Arbor Gold."

_With a whore or two for company._

"So you don't think he'll come?" Sansa asked dejectedly. Her ocean blue eyes somehow looking deeper. Deep enough to drown in. Jon only shook his head before following Sansa as she rose from her chair and moved to the tent entrance, wrapping her arms about herself as she watched the rainfall. It was easing off slightly but the pitter-patter of droplets continued to fill the air with a fresh, grassy scent. 

"Come on" Jon said "when was the last time you did something stupid?"

Sansa looked up at him with a twitch of a smile. "I'm not allowed to do anything stupid."

"Who says so?"

"Everyone" she shrugged.

With that, Jon was fuelled by impulse as he reached for Sansa's delicate hand and pulled her along with him as he darted out into the rain. Sansa shrieked and slid a bit in the mud but Jon held her fast to stop her from falling. 

"What are you doing?!" she shouted as he held her waist, making sure she did not succumb to a fall and paint herself head to toe in the squelch of mud. "I can't! I have to go back inside."

"You're a Lady of a noble family, yes?"

"Y-yes?"

Confusion settled on Sansa's face along with splashes of rainwater. She wasn't sure where he was headed with his line of questioning. Her hair and dress had already started to darken in places where it had become wet. Jon licked a water droplet from his own lips and smiled.

"Therefore it would be wise to adhere to your Prince's wishes. Would it not?"

"Yes my Prince" Sansa responded quickly, trying to bob up and down in a curtsy as if she had suddenly remembered her manners in Jon's presence.

"None of that" he said, wiping away a raindrop that was making its way down her temple before cupping her cheek and leaning in to whisper "I want you to do something stupid for once, Sansa." 

_Do something stupid with me._

Leaning back to gauge her reaction, Jon watched as a gleeful smile slowly crept onto her lips. It was beautiful. _She_ was beautiful. Jon wasn't sure if his rapid blinking was due to the raindrops on his lashes or the sight of Sansa Stark looking genuinely happy. Her smile morphed a fraction into a smirk before she spoke.

"Is that a command, Prince Jon?" she teased.

"Indeed it is Lady Sansa."

Jon waited for her final nod in agreement before leading her through the maze of tents and fenced off practice areas. He had a good idea as to where Arya and Bran had sped off to, but his legs didn't seem to want to lead them that way.

Sansa gripped his hand tight as he pulled her along. It felt small and delicate in his own. He enjoyed the feeling of her soft skin against his and wondered if the rest of her felt so smooth to the touch.

_Not yours to find out._

Jon could hear her breathy giggle behind him as he sped up, weaving past those people who dared face the weather for whatever purpose. Allowing himself to throw quick glances back at her left him a little dizzy as he was met with those clear blue eyes and a slight pink to her cheeks and chest. He wondered how far her blush would reach if she was truly flush with exertion and fully sated.

_Not yours to find out._

He imagined her breathless and nude. Blissful and glowing.

_Not yours._

He thought about her lips parted and panting. He asked himself how they would taste.

 _Not yours._ _Aegon's._

"Jon!" she squealed happily as they finally made it to the edge of the tourney camp and started running uphill towards a lone gnarled oak tree that sat on the top, surveying the hubbub below. "Where are we going? I'm soaked!"

Jon didn't answer her giggling queries, only turning to steady her the few times her boots slipped on the wet grass making her yelp and clutch tightly onto his forearm for support. He was headed towards the large tree having noticed it when they had rode in upon their arrival. The sizeable thing was wide and squat, it's branches reached out low and somehow still sprouted green leaves even though the thick trunk seemed almost completely hollowed out.

"In here" he said after they reached the tree, leading Sansa to the hole in the bark. She stepped inside and instantly looked up towards the canopy of branches and leaves. Jon slid in with her. The tree was wide but the cavity within barely allowed for both their panting bodies. Jon only need move forward an inch and he'd be pressed up against her, all wet and flushed from the run. He found himself captivated by the water droplets racing each other down her creamy throat to then follow the curve of her breast and disappear down the hallowed space between them. Sansa continued to stare up to the leafy sky, not seeming to worry one jot for his proximity. Jon wet his lips and was forced to momentarily screw his eyes shut as the thought of licking the rain from Sansa's skin was all too tempting. 

_Not yours._

It didn't help that her chest was heaving from their quick sprint and her hair was now sodden, deep red and plastered to her wet skin.

"It's beautiful" Sansa murmured in awe at the sky "like a wood nymph's home - I mean....not that I believe in wood nymphs at all" she babbled, with an embarrassed blush.

The bright blue of Sansa's eyes so close forced Jon to avert his own and look above them as he tried to ignore the bloom in his chest. He watched the leaves from underneath, taking turns in a fluttering dance as the rain selected which ones would be moved by the droplets. The only sound was their breathing and the splashes of water landing upon its destination, everything else left in the world seems still, crisp and frozen in time.

"Aye, I think a wood nymph would like it well in here."

Sansa let out a giggle of relief before clearing her throat.

"Um...Prince Jon?"

"Jon. I'm only Jon to you, Sansa" he said, finally levelling his eyes with hers.

"Jon" she corrected, with a smile "what does your brother think of me?"

_Not enough, I'm sure._

"He......he thinks that you're beautiful....you _are_ beautiful, Sansa."

Her lips twitched ever so slightly and Jon wasn't sure what to make of the gesture. 

"Does he think that we're a good match?"

"He...." Jon watched a bead of rain follow the curve of her cheek, not unlike an escapee teardrop "I'm sure that he is happy with his bride...how could he not be?" Sansa rolled her eyes.

"But will he be a good husband? Will he be a true husband to me?"

_No._

"I...."

_Say it. Tell her. Tell her how awful he would be. Tell her how she is nothing but a pretty mend for the rift between our families and kingdoms. She will be his Northern bauble to show off in court, to be fucked in their bedchamber, to be bred from for the 'realm' and to be discarded and forgotten when other women are offered to him to have. Tell her. You know it to be true._

"He doesn't deserve you."

His words were followed by a long silent moment, charged with something brewing beneath the surface. The air became thick with it - that something exciting, unknown and equally terrifying. Jon had spoken out against his family, against his brother, against the Crown Prince, against her betrothed. He watched Sansa's eyes follow the bob of his throat as he swallowed. Feeling some rainwater slowly trickle down the back of his neck, he licked his lips and was pleased by how her own tongue seemed to mimic his actions as they stared at one another.

"Doesn't he?" She whispered, eyes still intent on Jon's mouth.

"No....Not at all."

_It is the truth._

"But he is a Prince."

"He's an ass."

Sansa tried to hide her smile by casting her gaze downwards.

"So I am to be the wife of an ass?"

"You shouldn't be" Jon breathed.

"Whose wife should I be then?" Sansa asked, her gaze flitting from his eyes and back down to his mouth, making a map of his features.

_Mine._

Jon could no more hold himself back from surging forward than he could sprout wings and fly. He devoured the small space between them, crushing Sansa's lips with his own, holding her by the waist, he pushed her against the rough bark of the tree hollow. Her quiet surprised squeak disappeared into his mouth and she quickly melted against his attentions. Sansa bought her hands up to rid him of the leather cord that held his hair in a knot, enticing a groan from his throat once she sunk her fingers into his wet curls. 

"He doesn't deserve you" Jon repeated into Sansa's mouth between their frantic claiming of one another.

"And you do?" she murmured, sharing her hot wet breath with his.

"Probably not."

Jon mapped a path down her jaw and throat with his tongue, tasting the rainwater and her skin as Sansa whined and twisted his hair tight in both hands.

"I'm your brother's future wi-"

Jon cut off her words with a bruising kiss before breaking away, panting as she held his stare, daring her to speak the words he did not want to hear.

"I am Aegon's bet-"

He did it again, as if swallowing her words would undo the truth of them. As if he could wipe away any evidence of Sansa ever uttering his brother's name with a lick of his tongue within her mouth. She moaned throatily and Jon seized it.

"Aegon would never make you moan like that" he declares, half believing it as he mouths along her jaw.

"He wouldn't?" Sansa asks in voice that cracks like an eggshell.

"Gods no."

_I'm Sure of it._

Jon swirls his tongue over the smooth skin just below Sansa's ear lobe and grins into the side of her neck when she squirms and sighs.

"Aegon only thinks of himself. He would never think of your pleasure Sansa, only his own."

He nips and sucks around the base of her neck and collarbone, feeling a slight guiding tug from her hands still entwined in his hair. Sansa seems to be urging him lower and he dares to hope she means for him to taste her teats. Smoothing one hand upwards from her waist, Jon sweeps her breast, liking the way he can pull a pretty little gasp from her lips. He sends up silent thanks to the Old Gods and the New that Sansa is wearing a dress with laces fastening at the front of the bodice. He fingers the ties and tugs experimentally before pausing and looking her in the eye, waiting to see if he would be granted permission to continue.

"Jon" Sansa sighs sinfully. The sound of it going straight to his cock.

He's not quite sure if the noise that escapes him can be described as human. It's urgent and raw, rumbling and possessive. His hands are quick with the laces and he near whines like a petulant child when he's met with yet another barrier.

Sansa wears an ivory cotton shift beneath her dress that Jon is sure houses the tiniest pearl buttons in all the seven kingdoms. There they are, stitched in a neat row, starting at her chest and ending at her navel where the lacing of her dress becomes her skirts. They feel like minute peas in his great clumsy fingers and it doesn't take long before he's making Sansa gasp once more - this time from succumbing to his frustrations and ripping her shift, some buttons spraying in all directions, mimicking the sound of the rainfall as they bounced down the tree bark.

"Sorry! I......Fuck" he mutters, staring at her pale rose tipped breasts, rising and falling with her breathing. Curling one hand into her bodice and around her ribs, Jon brought the other up to cup the soft milk-white flesh and squeezed. "Fuck" he repeats before ducking down and sucking a teat into his mouth. 

"Mmmm" he feels her purr from within her chest, she shifts on her legs and lets out a _'Gods'_ on a breathy whisper as her nipple pebbles in his mouth.

Jon sucks, nuzzles, strokes and kneads each breast until the frequency in which Sansa moans his name is maddening.

"Aegon wouldn't do any of this for me?"

"No" he responds quickly, releasing her teat from his wet mouth with a pop and giving it a little lick. He can't be sure what Egg would or wouldn't do but he's too drunk on Sansa to fret over any lies he might let slip this very moment.

"What else wouldn't he do?" Her pupils are blown wide and her swollen lips parted ever so slightly as she awaited his response. Jon moves closer, pressing the side of his face to hers so that he may rasp his answer against her temple.

"He wouldn't look after you...he wouldn't care if you were ready for him." 

"Ready?"

"Yes......he wouldn't care to take the time to make sure you were wet between your thighs."

Sansa's breath hitches before she answers "I think you've made me ready, Jon."

"Sansaaa" Jon groans, pushing his hips firmly against hers. One of Jon's hands skates down to the flat of her belly, his fingertips grazing the end of the bodice opening. "Can I?" Sansa nods and Jon's hand slowly disappears down the front of her skirts and into the top of her smallclothes. There's not much room for movement but his fingers find her mound and brush past the curls there that he imagines are as bright copper as the hair on her head.

"Gods" he breaths into the side of her cheek as he finds her folds and starts rubbing her own slickness through her.

"Jon" Sansa sighs, clutching to his shoulders. "Mmmm."

Dipping his fingers further inside her is like the sweetest torture. Sweet because of the mewls and whimpers, the warmth and the silky wetness. 

_Torture because she'll never be yours._

_Not yours._

"Jon" Sansa sighs, rocking on his hand.

He curses when he feels her clench around his fingers, imaging the sensation on his cock as he pumped his fingers faster.

Sansa whispers and licks her lips "Am I 'ready'?" 

Pulling his hand from her cunny, Jon raises it for them both to inspect the sheen of her coating his fingers. He smiles and sucks them clean as Sansa watched, slack jawed.

"Yes, I would say that you're ready my Lady."

"Ready for...your-"

Jon's heart skipped a beat at the implications of her words before he fully realised why she had not finished her question, and why she was now looking at him with wide, petrified eyes and a mouth agape.

"Sansa?...Jon?..."

_Uncle Ned._

_Fuck!_

Sansa suddenly sprang into action like a pouncing wolf, pushing Jon off of her and frantically re-threading her bodice laces. Lord Starks calls came closer and clearer. Jon quickly slid out from the tree hollow in the hopes that he could stall his uncle and give Sansa more time to compose herself. His heart hammered in her chest as he approached his uncle.

"There you are" Ned called, eyeing Jon as he neared the oak tree "a Tarly maidservant told me she'd seen you two heading this way in the rain.....where's Sansa?"

"She's...ah..."

"Here father!" Sansa calls as she approaches, bounding towards them with a smile ever so slightly too false and bright, a bodice ever so slightly askew and lips ever so slightly kiss swollen. Jon tugs at his doublet, making sure the bulge in his breeches is suitably covered. Ned Stark's eyes flit suspiciously from one to the other.

"What have you been doing?"

"Jon was just showing me where lightning has struck this tree - it's completely hollowed out father, come see." She inclines her head back at the wide oak and almost starts to move towards it - as if her farther were about to heed her invitation and inspect the hollow. Ned does not move.

"What have you really been doing?"

"I told you, we've been-"

"In the rain?"

"Yes, well Arya and Br-"

"Arya and Bran have been yanked from the stream sodden and dripping" Ned cut her off with a commanding voice "they are now back in the camp warming themselves beside the fire.....what have you two really been doing?!"

Jon tried ever so hard not the shift and redden under his uncles accusatory glare and sweep up and down both of their bodies. Neither of them spoke. Sansa fiddled with her skirts.

"Sansa" Ned started on a sigh "what good could come of-....what on earth were you two thinking?!....are you not happy with your betrothed?"

Sansa glanced briefly to Jon before shaking her head at the floor, unable to meet her father's eyes. Ned pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long exhale.

"The last time a Stark girl broke off a betrothal and ran off with a Targaryen Prince, it did not end well." he said, eyeing Jon who felt like he wanted to both sink into his boots and battle hideous beasts at the same time. He forced himself to stand tall and look his uncle in the eye.  "Let us pray to the Gods that it is different this time."

Ned paused as Jon let out a breath he had not realised he was holding on to. His uncle seemed to be waiting for one of them to speak up and contradict his assumption. When none came, he left them with a nod and a grunt.

And just like that, Jon and Sansa were alone on top of a hill with a hollowed out tree, looking on as Lord Stark marched back down towards the camp grounds. Their eyes followed his movements and watched as he made his way inside Aegon Targaryen's tent.

 _Not yours, brother_ he thought as he stared at the black and red waving banners, three headed dragons dancing in the rain. _Mine._

Jon turned to see Sansa twisting her hands in the wet fabric of her skirts, wringing out her concern and her teeth worrying her bottom lip. Her eyes never left the tent her father had disappeared into as if she might be able to see straight through the canvas and discern the outcome of the conversation within.

 _Mine,_ Jon thought once more _.......I hope._

  

**Author's Note:**

> ALL HAIL KING OF THE COCK-BLOCK NED-FUCKING-STARK!!!!!


End file.
